Nightmares
by Love Out Of Lust
Summary: A short fic written for a friend on tumblr. This takes place after the episode on Friday.


You run up the steps, but your feet aren't working fast enough. They seem to have turned to jelly, and you don't know why or what's happened, but you know that he's inside, and you have to get to him. Nothing else is more important than this.

The universe seems to be conspiring against you. It feels impossibly dark, and you can hardly find your way there. You _have_ to get to him though. Simon Walker's face has told you all you needed to know, his expression a lot like triumph.

You could lose him, and you can't breathe.

You're kicking on the door to the flat now, violent, furious kicks, must look like a madman but you don't care.

Brendan is _inside_, he's inside and you're not with him, and no matter what's happened, no matter that you're covered in the bruises he gave you, you have to be with him.

When you force your way into the flat you're on the floor, your knees buckling out from underneath you. There's a second person in there, and you vaguely register that it's Seamus, but your eyes are only fixed on one person.

He's lying on the carpet, head blown open. You can see the inside of his skull, can imagine where the bullet went into it, and he's barely Brendan anymore, is too thickly covered in blood, seems to coat everywhere.

You don't think you'll ever be able to get up from the floor, but you're somehow crawling over to him, shaking him and shaking him, and why won't he wake up, he _has_ to wake up.

He has to finish this thing between you and him, because it's not even close to being over.

You have to tell him what an idiot he is, such a fucking bastard for hurting you all over again. He can't be dead, because Brendan Brady can't die, most strong and brave and invincible person you've ever known.

But his heart's not beating.

"_Steven."_

You fight against it, feel like you're hallucinating. You can't be hearing his voice. He's not here, and you don't know whether to cling onto the sound of him, the memory, terrified that you'll forget all that is. You can't forget.

Hands are on you now, shaking you with almost the same force as you were shaking him.

You're only screaming one thing, one name when you wake up.

"_Shhh, it's okay."_

You gasp for breath, trying to feel for something alive, something that you haven't yet lost.

"Brendan?" You call it desperately, so deeply afraid that he won't be real.

"You had a nightmare, that's all it was." He's touching you like he's not sure he's allowed to, hands tentative against your arm.

"I dreamed that..." You can't say it out loud, think that you could make it true just by your voice alone.

"I dreamed that I lost you," he says. You stare at him, and you see it then. The sweat on his forehead. The wide eyed gaze. The circles under his eyes, like he's just been to hell and barely survived it.

He's choking on his words.

You desperately want to comfort him, but don't even know if it's your place anymore, don't know if you have the right after what he did to you, if he even deserves your words.

Your instinct is stronger than your stubborn mind.

"Come 'ere." You pull him towards you, wrap your arms round him like you did earlier. You hadn't meant to fall asleep here, had only lied down for a second in your bed, had barely even been aware of Brendan joining you. It had felt pointless to try and fight against it. You couldn't lie to yourself that you didn't want him here.

He's running his hands up and down your back under the fabric of your t-shirt. You know he loves the feel of your skin, _"always so damn smooth and warm, Steven", _seems to be another form of whiskey to him, calming his senses.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you're pulling him closer, impossibly close, lips on his neck.

"No, Steven."

You can't understand why he won't give you this. You can't understand why you want this.

"Please..." You hate begging, but it's what he reduces you to. You always become a pleading and incoherent mess when you're dying to fuck him. He usually loves the effect he has on you, but not now. Not after what he did.

"This isn't what you want."

He's said these words to you before, said them to you when you were with Doug, and you didn't believe him that time either, because as fucked up as it was, he was exactly what you wanted.

"Yes it is," you blow hot air against his skin, reach for the zip of his jeans.

"Stop." He looks agonised, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. "I'm trying to look after you."

"Then do this for me." This _is_ looking after you. There's nothing in the world that you desire more.

"You should hate me."

You roll your eyes, because Brendan should know now that you could never. You _wish_ you could, wish you had hated him after he beat you for the first time, wish you could after you'd put him in hospital, wish you could after he told you_ "don't be soft."_

But you understand all that he is, is exactly who you are too, can't stop loving him even if someone held a gun to your head.

You say it now, tell him you love him, and he says it back like he's looking at the face of God.

You know you're close to wearing down his resistance, and all you have to do is push it that little bit more.

"Please, fuck me. _Please_."

You hear him mutter _Jesus_, roll you onto your back and take off your trousers and his, throw them on the floor like they're offending him.

You haven't been naked in front of him in days, too consumed with arguments and tears and violence, and you've missed this more than you thought possible, missed the way he sets you alight and makes you feel more alive than anyone else ever has.

You keep your top on, but Brendan still runs his hands over you, worships your skin like it's a prize to be won. When he kisses you you forget about what you just dreamed. It's easy to forget everything when his lips are against yours.

He prepares you hastily, and you know then that he needs this as much as you do. His hands are trembling, you can see it when he puts his fingers in his mouth and slicks them up. You're so ready for him that you've immediately wrapped your legs around his neck, have propped your arse onto a pillow to allow him better access.

You're fisting his cock to get him ready, although he's rock hard already, so impossibly turned on by your desperation. He closes his eyes, savours your ministrations for a moment, bucks into your hand, lets out a groan which makes you want him even more.

You're impatient now, drag his fingers towards you and insert them inside your hole, repeat _fuck fuck fuck _like it's your mantra while he stretches you open. Brendan watches your face the entire time, seems to take pleasure from watching your eyes widen, your lips part.

He removes his fingers soon, too soon, but you know that what's coming will really make you scream.

"So tight," he says when he enters you. You've been so loose for him these past few months, hardly a day passing by that he hasn't fucked you. But now you're burning, can feel him getting deeper, and you're biting down on your lower lip, won't be able to stop yourself from shouting out his name soon.

You roll your hips up to meet his, and he smiles down at you the way he used to, used to tell you _you're so fucking horny Steven, look at you. _But he doesn't speak now, and neither do you, just concentrate on what he's doing to your body, because however screwed up things have been between you, this is always the thing you've got completely right.

The pressure in your body is too much, too intense. You're going to come embarrassingly soon, and Brendan won't even have to lay a hand on your cock.

He's with you though, he's right there with you, at the edge himself. He's nuzzling into your neck, thrusting into you relentlessly, no break from the onslaught.

"I'm going to come." You couldn't hold it back even if you wanted to.

"Come then," he whispers, sounds like he desires nothing more.

You spill onto his stomach, shudder as your orgasm's ripped from you, and it only takes a second before he's releasing himself inside of you, hammering into you so powerfully that the bed moves forcefully, squeaks so loudly that you're afraid it's going to break, crashing both of you to the floor.

You stroke your hand down his back as you both recover. Brendan's panting, and you feel something wet on your shoulder, feels a lot like tears but you're not ready to ask him.

You're both alive, and you realise with a startling clarity that if you lose him then you'd be dead too.


End file.
